


National Security

by saraid



Series: Panther Tales [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraid/pseuds/saraid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercenaries Panther & Chief are asked in to assist in a political kidnapping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	National Security

*******

It was a small, anonymous briefing room, like so many others used by this government. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands, like it. Only the quality of the furnishings indicated that there was anything special about this one.

"We're at four-point-sixteen, sir." the man who spoke was in a suit and could charitably be described as nondescript, but behind his mud brown eyes churned the mind of a potential Nobel Prize winner. He'd been nominated twice already. But not for the work he was doing here tonight.

"Don't tell me that, I *know* that." there were only three men in the room, and the one who spoke was pale and haggard, his voice shook with emotion. "Tell me what you have."

"Yes, sir." this man was smaller and also dressed conservatively. He flipped on the overhead projector and four pictures appeared on the screen before them. "If we pursue this course of action, these are the men I would recommend we approach."

The man in charge looked at them for a long time. The fingers of his right hand slowly turned the plain gold band that circled his third finger.

The man in the upper left picture was showing signs of age. The picture itself was blurry, obviously taken with from a black-and-white video. It showed the hardness around his eyes and the twisted expression on his face all too clearly.

"Harlan Mordachai." mud eyes spoke quietly. "International bodyguard, wanted for questioning by Interpol, MI5 and our own organizations. Possible terrorist connections."

The upper right picture was of a much younger man with Asian features. He wore camouflage gear and smirked at the camera.

"We've never gotten a confirmed identification on this one. Calls himself 'Spooky'. We used him to track down that stolen jeep in Korea, the one that led to Carmicheal's arrest."

"That was four years ago. Do we know how to contact him now?"

"Possibly. I'd say we have a fifty-fifty chance of making contact in the required timeframe."

Nodding, the man with the ring continued to look.

Lower left hand - a short, stock black man, in a good suit, in line at an airport ticket counter.

"Code name Rocks, real name Ansel Skeendersh. Swiss native. Works for anyone who can pay him, which has led to some bad feelings in the past."

The man nodded again, but his attention was caught by the last photo. The man in it was everything American - tall, muscular, short brown hair, piercing sky-blue eyes.

He had a face that carried a world of pain.

"I've never seen that one before."

"This is the only photo we have of him, and it's not at all recent." the man behind the projector bobbed his head apologetically. "He's only become noticeable in the last five years or so, though we have reason to believe he's been operating for at least ten."

"One of ours?" he didn't know why he asked, there was just something about the man that screamed 'military'."

"Yes, Mr. President. This is Panther."

That got the president's attention.

"Panther...I've read that name. Didn't he retrieve a load of stolen plutonium for the Russian government two years ago?"

"Yes, sir."

"And wasn't he connected to that assassination attempt on the Emperor of China before that?"

"Yes, sir." the answer came more slowly now. "From all reports, he prevented it. We're pretty sure he has a partner, but I'm embarrassed to admit that we know practically nothing about him. Except that it *is* a him." the way he stressed that made the man in authority glance at him sharply.

"They're -" he paused to search for a diplomatic word. "- a couple?"

"Every piece of intelligence we have on Panther would indicate that, yes, sir."

"A gay mercenary." the man mused aloud. "Who's worked for our friends and our enemies. Why would we trust *him*?"

"Because, sir." clearing the projector with a wipe of his hand, the Director of the CIA replaced it with a single photo of the same man, somewhat younger, in camouflage gear, carrying an automatic weapon, with a bandanna tied around his head. It was a copy of the cover of a major news magazine. "We sortof made him."

* * * * * * *

It was a small, quiet pub in downtown London, frequented by university types, known for the silences that surrounded its chess matches.

Sliding into the booth furthest from the door, the man waited. behind him, unseen, so did another.

When the American in the suit appeared, he studied him carefully as he walked toward him, standing to greet him with a restrained nod.

"You called?" the words were laced with bitter sarcasm.

"Yes. We need your help."

"Why in the *hell* would I help you?"

"You're still a man of your country. This is a matter of national security."

"Once those words would have meant something to me." leaning back, he gave a false impression of relaxation. "I've learned better."

"This is a delicate situation. Please. I wasn't told to beg, but I will. There's more at stake here than you know."

A silence met the plea.

"Just come and listen to what he has to say. It wasn't his fault, you know. He wasn't in charge then."

"Would it have been different if he had been?"

"Please." repeating the word, the man clasped his hands in front of himself on the table. "We have nothing to offer you..."

He watched as the man's head cocked to the side and his eyes widened slightly before narrowing. He wondered what he was seeing, or listening to. Knowing what little they did of this man, it could be almost anything.

They had lost so much with this one.

Caught up in his study of the mercenary, the agent missed the slight movement from behind him.

"You know I don't come alone." spoken gruffly.

"We know." a shrug, an acceptance. "Can we give you a lift?"

"We'll get there on our own. Meet me at..." he rattled off an address and the other man scribbled it down on a napkin hastily. "Now get out of here before I change my mind."

* * * * * * *

"Nineteen-point-seven, sir." greeting the president at the door of the same briefing room, Director Cullen stepped aside.

"He'll be here as soon as he clears security. Leaning over he flipped on a small screen and full-color video filled it.

The tall man, wearing black again, was standing stiffly while a Secret Service agent went over him with a handheld metal detector. There was a small table beside him that held several weapons already.

Passing over his arm, the machine buzzed. The Panther shrugged and tugged up his sleeve to reveal a solid band of steel that circled his right wrist.

"Remove it, please."

"It doesn't come off." turning the wrist over, he displayed the almost seamless weld.

Another arm, from a smaller man that stood concealed behind him, extended beside his, also circled by a band of faded metal.

"Matched set." the mercenary looked straight at the camera.

"I've trusted you." he said, slightly louder. "Now you trust me."

"Tell him it's okay." the president said. "Let him in."

"How did he see that camera? It's less that an inch across and it was buried in a flower arrangement!"

"That's why we want him, right?"

* * * * * * *

Soon after that the mercenary called Panther was seated in a comfortable armchair across a coffee table from the President of the United States.

Standing behind him was the mysterious second man. Shorter, slimmer, he also wore black, his head covered by a battered brown fedora, eyes blocked behind dark glasses. Only his hands were expressive, fluttering over the larger man's shoulders, stroking and patting, always touching him.

Even in the low light, with his features half-concealed, it was plain that he was beautiful, as much so as a man could be.

"So. National security doesn't mean to me what it once did." the words from the mercenary's mouth were thick and bitter. The easy posture was carefully calculated.

"This is far more important that national security." Allowing a hint of his personal pain to show in the professional words, the president gestured at the screen. It showed a picture of his eldest daughter, the young woman was working on her doctorate in history at Yale. Petite and pretty, smart and kind. She had two very young children.

"My youngest grandchild - my daughter's new baby - has been kidnapped." he said the words in a rush. "We know who and we know where...we just don't know how to get her back."

"And you don't want the publicity." Panther nodded.

"The Middle East negotiations are at a delicate stage. I'm trying to get a Supreme Court Justice confirmed. The country isn't ready for this kind of disturbance."

The younger man bent his head, pressing his lips to the Panther's ear. A single earring, a round piece of something black an matt set in silver, pierced it, matching the one in the silent man's. Although they tried to hide it, every man in the room strained forward slightly, trying to hear his words.

The Panther blinked, and nodded and the other man stood again, hands clasping the broad shoulders loosely.

"Excuse me, who is this?" the president sounded mildly annoyed, as if he'd been left out of a small joke.

"My shadow." Panther said shortly, which explained exactly nothing. "I'll do it. You'll provide entry and backup?"

"Yes."

"There's a price."

"Look, Panther...although I would do almost anything to save this baby, I will not compromise the safety of this country."

He snorted and something that closely resembled amusement crossed his face.

"This country has nothing that I want. But he -" he reached behind himself and patted the second man's stomach in a manner that could only be termed affectionate, "- he wants access to some research. We know you have it, and we know that you don't know what it means. He does."

Staring, the president half-turned to stare at the CIA director. He shrugged, hands spread slightly.

"Where would you find this information?"

"It's in the Library of Congress. Just give us twenty-four hours and a copier key."

"Done." without a second thought the president approved it, despite the head-shaking of his top spy.

"We'll want to rest tonight and do the job tomorrow." Panther stood. His - partner? - went still behind him, once again out of sight.

"Stay here. You'll be safe." the president urged.

"We're not going to back out." the mercenary frowned at him.

A small, slender hand appeared on his arm, gripping it. He cocked his head for a moment, and then sighed, and nodded. "Okay. One room. A big bed."

"We have just the thing." the CIA agent said confidently. They'd planned for this.

Watching as the two men were led away, President Angelo was struck by the closeness between them. It was as if they were bound by an invisible cord. He'd heard that said before, but never actually seen it. It was really quite remarkable.

He turned back to the man that remained and frowned. It was an expression uncommon to his politician's face, but threatening nonetheless.

"You've had twelve hours. Tell me what you know."

Pulling out a file, the man flipped on the overhead and began speaking, low and steadily.

"James Joseph Ellison. Jim. Born 1957, Cascade, Washington. Joined the army at the age of 22, straight out of college. Airborne Ranger, then Special Operations. Spent 18 months stranded in the Peruvian jungle after a bad mission. Six years later he developed some sort of extrasensory awareness while working as a police detective and was tagged for watching. Picked up by the Shop three years after that."

"The other one - what did he call him? - who the hell is he?" interrupting, Angelo gulped his coffee. Although he would never have admitted it, the man's still silence and almost non-presence had unnerved him.

"We don't have a name. The records have been very well concealed, or wiped entirely. There are a few clues, but none that lead us to an identity. He was taken not long after Ellison, supposedly because he was needed to test Ellison." He stopped speaking abruptly and the president leaned over and took the file from him.

There was nothing else in it except a single picture.

Holding it up, he saw the younger man, but not much more of his than he'd seen tonight. He was dressed in native costume, head and face mostly covered, standing within a group of what appeared to be Tibetan monks. His eyes were visible, a shining dark blue, he was still beautiful, but he didn't look any happier.

"That was taken last year, after the thwarted assassination attempt. A security sweep picked it up from a computer transfer that we had been keeping an eye on for other reasons."

"White men haven't been allowed to visit the monks in almost fifteen years." Angelo stared.

"That must have been the price."

"Jim Ellison. Panther. Any idea why he uses that code name?"

"None. And there is no family we can locate. He had a brother, Stephen, who was picked up not long after the second man, but we're unsure what happened to him. It's assumed that he did not survive the fire."

"The fire?" setting his cup down suddenly, Angelo leaned closer. "What fire?"

Shutting the file and turning off the projector, the CIA Director actually looked faintly nauseous.

They sat for a long minute in the dim room.

"Ten months after Ellison was 'acquired', there was an explosion at the research facility. The entire complex burned to the ground. Forty-three people were killed because the emergency doors were locked with a security code."

Angelo stared at him, his eyes hardening as his face paled. "Are you telling me that I just made a deal with a mass murderer?"

"There's no proof that he started the fire. He and the other man did escape during it." director Cullen met his eyes steadily. "And we have one more piece of information...if you care to hear it. It's not pleasant and it begs as many questions as it answers."

Studying him for a minute, the president hit the intercom button embedded in the table,

"How are our guests?" he asked shortly.

"No problems, sir. They chose the chicken from the menu we offered and are currently showering - together."

"Is the room fully wired?"

"Of course, sir."

"Keep me updated." leaning back again, Angelo pinned Cullen with his eyes. "Show me."

Rising quickly, the man inserted an unlabeled microtape into the player that was also built into the table, and pushed the button that started it.

"This footage was recovered from the only tape that survived the fire. It was badly damaged, of course, so the quality isn't anything to get excited over."

Nodding, the president sat back to watch.

The screen was fuzzy and then moved with unrecognizable figures striped with lines of horizontal disturbance. The background seemed to be white and suddenly there was one man standing there...and then the noise started.

It could have been a man, or an animal. So primal and anguished that it didn't matter which, the president stiffened involuntarily as it wailed into the room. Then, with shocking swiftness, it mutated into a word as the picture changed.

"JIMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM...!!!!!!!!!!" a plea torn from a man's soul.

The picture cleared just long enough for the vision to burn itself into his brain; the same slender young man, naked, head shaved, tied to a hospital bed with restraints, writhing and screaming...wires leading from his head and off-screen.

Then an older man in a white lab coat, face hidden by mask and cap, presumably the same one as previously, stepped into the frame and spoke, his low voice audible as the scream faded to the background.

"Subject G still resists all attempts to study and decipher the nature of this relationship. Extreme measures have been approved but arrangements are not finalized for initializing this last-ditch effort to gather this info-" the screen buzzed out suddenly.

Only the wailing echo of a fresh scream could be heard over the static of the last couple of minutes.

The screen had been black and silent for at least ten minutes before the president spoke again.

"That was ten years ago?"

"Closer to eleven, we think."

"Who authorized it?"

"My predecessor, sir. I do not know if President Gore was aware of it, but I'm willing to say not."

"Forty-three dead."

"Yes, sir."

Standing, the president stared at the blank screen for a long time.

"I need to go comfort my wife. Keep me updated."

"Yes, sir."

Cullen watched his boss leave the room before rewinding and replaying the video. The agony in that man's voice...he wondered how anyone could survive such trauma.

Leaving the briefing room to take his place in the control room, he remembered the silence of the man and wondered if anyone actually had.

* * * * * * * "

What have we got?" sitting beside the White House Chief of Security, a special unit of the Secret Service, Cullen gazed at the bank of monitors. Only one showed what he was interested in.

"They just finished eating."

The two men on the screen were both in black boxers. The video quality was good enough to show that the younger one's body showed a faint pattern of scarring across the back and shoulders.

Without a hat to contain it, his hair fell in a silver-white fall to almost his waist, in loose waves that would be curls if it were shorter. One foot rested lightly against one of Panther's beneath the table.

"Damn." Cullen blinked at that. Then he saw Panther smile crookedly and pass something across the table to the other. "Have they spoken at all?"

"Not a word. It's kind of eerie."

As one, the two men on the screen leaned back in their chairs. Panther raised a leg slightly and stretched it out to rub it suggestively up the younger man's shin. The beautiful, solemn face broke into an absolutely wonderful smile, but he shook his head and made the first sound they had heard from him; a low, raspy chuckle.

"Is he deaf?" the security chief was curious.

"No sign language." Cullen studied them closely now.

"Huh." not impressed with the puzzle, the other man turned his attention back to the more mundane matters of surveillance.

Cullen watched as the two men stripped out of their underwear without a glance, and climbed into the big bed together. Panther drew the smaller man to his chest and kissed the top of his head. Then he closed his eyes and smiled. It was the first pleasant expression seen on his strong face so far.

They slept, easily, trustingly.

* * * * * * *

"Ohhh...God, no. God, NO!" when Jim shouted in his sleep, Blair automatically rolled away to protect himself. They'd been through this so often in the last ten years that it was second nature.

Standing beside the bed, stark naked, he walked down to the bottom -- the agent noted that he kept contact with the restlessly moving body all the way down, a single finger trailing the sweaty skin -- and carefully gripped Jim's foot, seeking the painful pressure point that would wake him quickly.

"Chief! Chief! NOOO!! Leave him alone!!!" the nightmare continued and the thrashing grew violent. The man watching them sat up, hoping that he was about to learn something.

With a determined grimace the younger man dug his fingernails into the soft pad between the muscles of the foot and the larger man yelped with pain, and then sat up.

"Chief? Where are you? I need you..."

The younger man crawled up the bed and into his arms. Soon they were kissing hungrily, bodies beginning to move together on top of the tangled sheets, and Cullen was feeling uncomfortable.

Then Panther sat up, holding the younger man's quivering body close, and scanned the room.

The smaller man made a questioning sound and he soothed him automatically, hands stroking through that fall of hair.

"Camera." he said shortly. Climbing nude from the bed - sporting a large, heavy erection - he padded unerringly across the floor to the window and the small lens in the sill. Leaning close, he raised an eyebrow, and flipped the edge of the drape over it.

"This is private." the words were clipped and harsh.

They still had sound, so Cullen decided that it wasn't worth disrupting them to install another camera. The man would find it anyhow.

He sat in the large, darkened control room, not knowing exactly what to expect.

There were soft wet sounds - kissing. And the scratch of bodies moving against sheets.

"Boost the gain." he told the security chief. With a grimace the man did, turning a small knob.

Whispered words came clear.

"I need you, Chief. Need to feel you, to know you're real. Talk to me, get out of my head for a few minutes, please..."

"Anything you want, man. Anything you want..." the whisper was low and raspy and raw and cracked. Cullen remembered those screams and wondered what kind of damage could be done to a voice if that went on long enough.

"Tell me you love me." the Panther demanded.

"More than life."

There were other sounds now. Cullen tried not to think about what they meant.

"Touch me." the rough whisper begged. "Love me."

"Like this?" the tenderness that filled the mercenary's voice brought a sting to the agent's eyes. Startled, he wiped the briskly. "And like this? I know you like *this...*

Long minutes soft sighs and low moans, then louder rustling sounds.

"Oh, yeah, like that, Chief. I want your mouth...want you to suck me."

A garbled noise told the audience that he was doing just that. Panther growled low and panted as he spoke.

"Yes, yes, yes...talk to me, Chief. Let me hear you!"

The sounds changed, became a quiet chorus of louder moans, and then there were more words in that ravaged voice.

"Oh gods. I love you, love your hands, love your voice... love feeling you inside me."

"You feel so good, I want to stay here forever."

More unidentifiable noises, and then a moan that echoed in the room and spilled into the control room. Rough and raw, it obviously came from the younger man, the one Panther called 'Chief'.

"More - harder - faster - take me, take me takeme...!" the hoarse whisper throbbed with love and then the sounds stopped.

The silence hung for several seconds before Panther roared.

"YES! Yes, Chief, *YES*!"

A hoarse wail followed, eerie echo of the pain-filled scream of earlier, this time filled with pleasure.

And then there was harsh panting silence.

After several more long minutes the Panther spoke quietly. "Yeah, I know, Chief. I love you too."

There was a pause. Cullen used it to get his own breathing under control. The emotions had been so strong in those voices that he'd become caught up in it.

"Yes, I have to say it out loud. I need the words, lover. Give me the words."

"I love you, Panther." the wanted words were barely discernable.

Snuggling sounds and sighs.

"We'll clean up in the morning." Panther said softly. "Sleep now. We're as safe here as we would be anywhere besides home."

After a pause there was another low sound of contentment. "Yes, I know, but there's only one place I think of as home." Another pause. "Anywhere you are, Chief. You know that. Anywhere you are."

There were more tiny snuggling noises and a sigh, then the easy breathing of sleep.

After a while Cullen decided that he wasn't going to learn anything more and left for his own bed. But sleep was hard to find, as his mind was filled with the decade-old echoes of screams.

* * * * * * *

In the morning the two men met Cullen in the briefing room. They were dressed in clean clothes, still black, the younger man's hair tucked once again beneath that hat. Angelo stuck his head in to wish them luck and left everything up to Cullen. He presented the evidence they had and the information they'd gathered on the situation. The entire time he spoke Panther and his partner, once again hidden behind him, listened silently, not asking any questions, but the older man occasionally nodded or cocked his head as if listening to something else.

"And that's the situation. I'll be accompanying you personally." finishing, the CIA man sat back and gazed at them speculatively. "Excuse me, but this is making me somewhat uncomfortable. Could you at least tell me what role he plays in this?"

The elegant hands fluttered over the broad shoulders as the younger man shifted his weight restlessly behind the older.

"You can call him Chief." Panther said. "Let's just say that he's my focus."

"So he will go with us."

"Or the deal's off." Panther said flatly.

"I can handle it." stepping to the side slightly, the CIA director changed his angle so he could see the man better.

Extending his hand, the he smiled at the smaller man as gently as he could, as if he were one of his own children. "I'm Mike Cullen. Thank you for helping us." he said.

The hand on Panther's back clutched at the drape of the long black trench, knuckles whitening with the force of it.

The face tilted, looking not at Cullen's, but Panther's, eyes.

The mercenary nodded but spoke quietly. "Only if you want to."

Feeling slightly silly holding his hand in midair, Cullen decided to give it a minute as the younger man apparently thought it over. Then he reached and grasped Cullen's hand and shook it firmly. His hand was small but strong, and felt chilled even in the comfortable temperature of the room.

He looked into Cullen's face, but no expression showed on his own. The eyes were completely hidden in mirrored wrap-around sunglasses. Withdrawing his hand, he moved so that he was again out of sight, the first time Cullen had noticed him doing it deliberately. Panther followed the movement, shielding him.

When Cullen looked back at the mercenary, the man was staring at him and he had to suppress a gasp. The sky-blue eyes were as hard as flint and his expression was clearly threatening.

"I've been honored, I realize that," Cullen said with sincerity. He truly felt that way. After a moment the stoic face softened and he briefly saw the love hidden there before it shuttered closed again. "Shall we make our preparations?"

The silent man -- Chief, Cullen reminded himself occasionally, to make him more personal in his mind -- trailed them all morning as decisions were made. Weapons were chosen, methods of entry tested and rejected. They met several more agents, both CIA and FBI and NSA and Secret Service, but Chief remained in his place behind Panther and didn't acknowledge any of them. Cullen continually caught the mercenary doing that cocking-his-head-and-listening thing and was beginning to form some nebulous theories about it.

Lunch was sent up from the kitchen to the larger room they were working in. Huge plates of sandwiches, gallons of coffee.

Panther gave a couple of sniffs and reached over the empty chair between them to tap Cullen's shoulder.

"Get something without meat, please. And some hot tea."

Startled, the director nodded at the steward who was waiting by the door. Then he half-turned in his chair to eye the mercenary.

"You ate meat last night." carefully mild, cautiously curious.

Panther raised an eyebrow, as if mocking him, and did not answer.

Running through what he'd seen the night before in his mind, Cullen remembered the exchange over the table...he hadn't gotten there in time to see them actually eat, but Panther had been handing over the last of his bread.

"You should have said something. We would have been happy to change the menu."

"He didn't know you then." with that cryptic statement, Panther reached across the table and snagged a sandwich stuffed full of lean roast beef and bit into it with apparent satisfaction.

He didn't trust you then. The unheard echo made Cullen slightly uncomfortable. He leaned back to catch sight of Chief, who was leaning against the wall behind Panther, one hand resting lightly on a broad shoulder. His head was tipped forward and one knee was cocked, other hand tucked neatly beneath his chin. The hat hiding that amazing hair.

It looked like he was sleeping. But his head snapped up and the blankness of those mirrored glasses stared at the agent with more force than any eyes he'd ever met.

Cullen just smiled, gently again, and returned to his own meal. Peripherally he was aware that the second hand joined the first and the slender body leaned to press briefly against Panther, face to his neck, and then the younger man returned to his relaxed pose. The steel band on his wrist shone dully.

There were a few glances, but everyone in the room had been carefully briefed and neither stared nor commented on his presence or behavior. Soon another, smaller selection of food arrived and was placed before the mercenary. He listened for a moment and then passed an egg-and-sprout-and-cheese in pita concoction over his shoulder. Stirring honey into the tea, that followed and Cullen was treated to a hint of the beautiful smile he'd seen via video the night before as Chief dropped a kiss to the back of the big man's neck before settling to eat. Needing both hands, he turned slightly so that his hip rubbed against Panther's back, and he rocked almost imperceptibly on his heels.

The mercenary grinned suddenly, for no apparent reason, and Cullen filed it away with the other clues he was gathering.

By dusk they were ready. Boarding a private helicopter, they flew to a military base to take another to the destination.

Having a good idea where the child was gave them an advantage, and the kidnappers were surely not expecting a frontal assault.

Waiting on the helipad at the base, in the stark artificial light, Cullen checked his crew automatically. Two men, one woman, each the best he had at what they did. And Panther, who would be doing the actual infiltration. He'd assured Cullen that he would not be caught. Everything Cullen had found out about the man backed that up.

"Sir." a marine officer came up behind them at a jog, followed by two others. "We're ready, if you'll come this way."

The marine gestured as they all turned to meet him, and one of his men slipped around behind them to snag a bag of gear helpfully. Whether he was just startled to see the smaller man hiding behind the larger or he thought there was an actual threat would be debated later.

He reached over and grabbed Chief's shoulder, for whatever reason, and pulled him away from the mercenary.

An ear-splitting roar thundered over the noise of the airfield.

Panther turned as the younger man stiffened and staggered, and laid the marine out cold with one punch. Then he was crouched and armed before any of the others had a chance to even draw their weapons, reaching for the other man, who lurched drunkenly, arms flailing. The hat tumbled from his head and a long coiled braid whipped around his body. Staggering backward, he moved away from Panther, not toward him, and the big man took a step forward, reaching for him, the tension so making his body so tight it looked as if he jerked.

"*Chief*..." he hissed the word as armed agents came between them, knowing only that the mercenary had just taken out a marine and was now armed.

Not knowing what had happened, only that it was imperative that he get these two back into physical contact, Cullen pointed his own weapon into the air and shouted.

"Weapons DOWN! Back off now!"

They stared at him in disbelief, but obeyed with the speed of long practice.

Panther moved so quickly Cullen wasn't even sure he'd seen it. One second he was crouched, looking positively feral, and the next he had Chief gathered close into his arms, and was holding him tightly enough to break ribs. His eyes were closed and the tears that leaked from them were visible to everyone, sparkling in the bright lights like pieces of a soul.

There were no words. After maybe ten minutes he released his hold and tucked the smaller man to his side, keeping an arm wrapped around him. The slender body was trembling noticeably.

Cautiously, the marine officer approached him. A medic had been called and was checking over the unconscious man.

"Does he require medical attention, sir?" the diplomatic voice betrayed some uncertainty, some unease, and some contempt.

"No." harsh and clipped, Panther holstered the weapon he still held protectively. "Can we get on with this?"

By the time they reached the transport, Chief had returned to his previous position. The female agent had retrieved his hat and Panther had replaced it, stopping to block their view with his body as he did so. The injured marine -- he had a broken jaw -- had been replaced by a back-up man and they were on their way.

It was a small stealth conversion vehicle, a descendant of the V-22 Osprey, designed to slip below land-based radar. The interior was divided into three portions. Cullen sat with Panther and Chief in the tail-end one.

"I'm sorry about that." he said softly. Panther grunted. Seated, Chief was plastered to his side, his white-knuckled hands clutching at the mercenary's clothing.

His face was buried in the larger man's shoulder.

"Shit happens." the old standby was said with such mocking bitterness that Cullen wondered how the man continued to live.

"Can you give us some privacy, please? And make sure all the rest of those clowns *know* that they can't touch him?" it was phrased as a question, but there was an order there, too.

"I hope you're worth all of this." Cullen said with mild anger as he left the four-seat room. He hadn't gotten to where he was by losing his temper.

"More than you'd believe." the reply wasn't sarcastic or mocking, just sure.

A half-hour later he emerged from the room himself.

Alone.

Cullen stared, shocked enough to let it show on his face.

Panther stood by the door after he carefully closed it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Only the closest observer could have seen the fine tremors that ran through him.

After eight minutes -- Cullen timed it idly -- he moved about halfway across this longer room and took a seat, now staring at the closed door.

After another eight, he moved to the far end, and sat across from Cullen himself.

The CIA director gave him a questioning look, but managed to restrain himself when he would have spoken.

"Twenty-two minutes till we touch down." the woman said conversationally. "It shouldn't take me more than thirty to defeat the perimeter defenses."

"No need." Panther said casually. "I can get in, and out, without your help."

Cullen blinked and then stared. Now he was starting to get angry.

"You think so?" he sounded it as well. "*If* that's true...why didn't you bother to mention it before we went to all this trouble?"

A shrug.

"It gave you something to do. And there's always the chance I won't succeed. If anything like that -" he nodded at the closed door that his attention never strayed far from, "- happens again, that chance becomes one hundred percent."

"What was the problem?" demanding now, his voice dropped, but Cullen was losing patience with this man and his secrets.

They could get them all killed, even go so far as to upset the balance of power in the country, perhaps the world, if they screwed up badly enough for the press to get into it. "I can't work like this. Tell me what I need to know."

Panther stared. His eyes were unreadable. The female agent left silently, heading for the next cabin.

"Just don't let anyone touch him and everything will be fine."

"Why have you left him alone?" Cullen's probing question was silently echoed by the real one: What the fuck is going on?

"I won't say more." Panther met his eyes steadily. "I'm sure you know how information can be used against someone."

"Then why trust us? Why help us, if you think we could do that to you again?"

"Two reasons." said flatly. "He says you're okay. And if it ever happens again...." he trailed off just long enough for Cullen to give a jerky nod, indicating that he knew what 'it' was, "It won't get far."

"How can you prevent it? There are others out there."

"We die." said without a hint of emotion in expression or inflection. Even a hardened man like Cullen blinked in the face of it. "All it would take now is... a thought."

"We could protect you." Cullen said, anger draining. "Work for us."

"Never again."

The door opened and Panther's eyes swung to it, his entire body strained motionlessly toward the man that stepped out silently.

"We will never tie ourselves to anything or anyone again."

Cullen was watching when the man raised shaking hands to remove the sunglasses, revealing the brilliant eyes that sparkled like precious jewels.

"Except each other." it was breathed like a prayer.

Those eyes met Panther's and electricity arced almost visibly between them, only cur off when the shades were replaced.

Then Chief took a seat by that door and curled into a tight ball, making himself unbelievably small, and seemed to sleep.

* * * * * * *

The hand on his shoulder surprised Cullen, but didn't bother him. Glancing at the small man that crouched beside him, he wondered if it was for contact or balance. Without Panther, Chief seemed somehow smaller and much, much more vulnerable.

They were at the edge of the heavy woods that surrounded the diplomatic compound. Cleared back ten feet from the electrified fence that surrounded it, it offered no access over said fence.

Panther had left them just over fifteen minutes ago. The rest of the crew was spread out around the compound, all more or less miffed to learn that their specialties wouldn't be needed, but prepared just in case. Connected by an advanced system of wireless com units, check-ins were staggered at two-minute intervals.

For everyone but Panther. When Cullen had given him his unit he'd given it back and nodded at Chief, who had been standing some six feet away, watching him, his stillness all the more evident now that he stood alone.

"He'll keep in touch with me, and tell you what you need to know."

The CIA director had not been pleased by this, but had allowed Chief to trail him, moving as silently as Cullen himself, to this chosen location

And now his hand was resting ever-so-lightly on Cullen's shoulder, much the same way it did on Panther's.

Half-turning, the agent studied the beautiful face, which was drawn with tension.

"Okay?" he asked softly. He could never look at this man without hearing a faint painful echo of those screams. It made him gentle.

A nod. Then, after working his mouth for a minute, words in that seldom-used, barely-human voice.

"He's - inside." it was obvious that if speaking was an effort, speaking to anyone besides his partner was triply that.

Cullen just nodded and returned his attention to watching, replying quietly to the check-ins as they came.

Another set of minutes. Twenty-four this time. The hand on his shoulder tightened and he didn't look around, thinking it might be easier for the younger man that way.

"Took out two guards..."

It went like that. Taking longer than Cullen was comfortable with, but this was Panther's show now.

 

Back flat to the wall, the mercenary held the tiny stun gun concealed in a palm. It was strictly black-market; silent, non-lethal, incredibly miniaturized. There were maybe a hundred others like it. But he could pay top dollar or trade his services for almost anything...including retrieving stolen plutonium. And this wasn't the first time he'd retrieved a stolen child.

Waiting for the two heartbeats he heard to get closer, he let his mind drift briefly. The woods here reminded him of the ones at their cabin, his favorite of their two homes. There were other places - places they owned, places they protected - that they lived sometimes, but they only had two homes.

It had been too long since they went there. Perhaps after this lecture series Blair would be ready to go back -- the guards were down and out before they knew what hit them. He had to let one fall to catch the other and the thud seemed uncommonly loud.

Quickly soothing the ripple of concern he felt from Blair, he carried first one man and then the other to the nearest empty room. Although he was just past fifty now, he was stronger and harder than ever. He had to be, to protect his partner. It got harder every year to maintain the impressive musculature he'd developed, but Blair's occasional "Mr. Universe' joke made it completely worthwhile. Any joke from Blair now was something to be treasured.

Creeping through mostly-empty hallways, unerringly finding the path of least resistance, Jim finally found the small upstairs room where he child was being held. There was one man lethargically guarding the room and a woman inside whose scream was muffled by the hand he slipped around he face after approaching her from behind.

"I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt." he whispered as he stunned her, draping the body over his arm. The sharp stench of urine filled the air and he wondered what someone so obviously untrained was doing in this room.

The infant was sleeping peacefully. Glancing around, he singled out the small padded diaper bag. Swiftly packing it with essentials - a bottle from the small fridge, diapers, wipes and a couple of toys, stuffing a tiny soft footed sleeper into the top, he zipped it up and then considered his next problem.

 

"He's found her." the words grated through the air. "She's okay."

Cullen just frankly stared. The man called Chief pulled his shades off with one hand and awkwardly wiped tear-filled eyes on his coat-sleeve. He blinked at Cullen, who smiled as he saw that face soften, and then hid again, behind the dark glasses.

Reporting to the team, they all prepared to give Panther whatever support he needed to get himself and the child out alive.

When Chief rose and turned away, walking swiftly through the woods, silently, Cullen fought the urge to call after him, following him instead. Breaking through the underbrush he was stunned to see Panther standing by a tree, one hand extended to the smaller man, who walked right up and placed his cheek in it.

The mercenary closed his eyes and Cullen stared.

The President's grandchild was wrapped in a blanket that was tightly slung so that she was pressed to Panther's broad chest.

Chief moved away from him again and the big man stepped to Cullen, who began recalling the team almost as an after-thought.

Folding down an edge of the blanket, Panther showed the peaceful face of the sleeping child, warm in her nest against him, zipped into a fuzzy pink sleeper. Cullen nodded and smiled broadly.

"Thank you." he truly meant it. "They're going to be so happy to have her back.

"I don't think they'll try this again. Having her grabbed back so easily will be too embarrassing." the mercenary grinned.

They shared a smile of achievement.

 

Regrouped in the vehicle several miles away, after the long trek, the female agent checked the baby after Panther unslung her. She had been surprisingly quiet throughout the rapid retreat.

"She's drugged!" the woman said in a shocked tone, looking at him with accusation.

Astounded, Cullen glared and motioned for the others to leave the room. They scattered to the aft cabins quickly. Chief tensed and moved closer to Panther.

"We never discussed this." the agent said harshly.

"Of course not. You're too tied up in the sanctity of childhood." shifting easily, the man gently jiggled the still-sleeping child. "I used a mild air-dispensed anesthetic. She'll becoming around any minute."

"I understand why you did it." after a few minutes of pointless anger, Cullen said, still harshly. "But we should have discussed it."

"Were you going to tell the President that I was going to dope his grandchild?" the sarcasm was back full force.

The baby chose that moment to wake up. With a piercing cry she announced her displeasure. Chief moved eagerly forward and the mercenary smiled at him and handed her over.

"Definitely your department, lover." he said. The smiled softened as the younger man cradled the baby to his chest and her screaming stopped immediately. Then the mercenary shrugged and began digging in the diaper bag, pulling out a bottle as two of the other agents stuck their heads back into the room. Holding it out to them, Panther's smile faded.

"Warm this up, will you? She's hungry."

Cullen spent the rest of the flight watching Panther watch Chief as the younger man fed and cared for the baby. He'd taken his glasses off and his movements were almost normal...and his smile was beautiful. He even made small quiet humming sounds.

Now Cullen knew what had been missing before. Now he looked alive.

* * * * * * *

"I'm glad to be home."

The raw voice soothed Jim's ears as he set down the large bag he was carrying. Shutting the door that latched automatically, Blair came around from behind him and insinuated himself into the long arms and cuddled to the broad chest, asking. With a grin the larger man picked him up and held him tightly. Wrapping his arms and legs around the other man, Blair became a part of him.

"So am I, Chief." he sighed. It had been a long time since they had been here. Stephen had made the arrangements to open the place up from his home, using the people they had learned they could trust to do the things he couldn't do for himself anymore.

Whenever Jim felt guilt over the deaths he had caused, he had only to look at his crippled brother, his damaged lover, to feel justified in all of it.

The room was small and cozy. A fire was laid in the big stone fireplace. There would be food in the kitchen and fresh sheets on the huge round bed in the back room, their nest.

There was no couch in the room, just a couple of low tables and stacks of plush beanbags and assorted pillows along the far wall, which was graced with a floor-to-ceiling window that was exposed now, bringing the deep northern forest outside in.

Walking across the room Jim snagged a couple of the retro chairs and scooted them in front of the fireplace. He spoke quietly as he did so.

"Yes, we're home now. Safe here, I know. Everything soft and warm, all the comfort you deserve. Cozy places to curl up and read, cushy places to snuggle..."

Gently lying his burden down on the bags - both of them deep midnight blue, dark against the lighter grey carpeting, which was also thick and soft and covered the entire room - Jim stepped hesitantly away. Blair blinked up at him and then stretched, yawning, and began stripping out of his clothes.

Watching him, Jim continued to speak quietly. "We're safe here. No one can find us, no one can hurt you. Ah, god, you're so beautiful...I can't wait to hold you. To touch you and taste you." he paused. "Yes, we can stay awhile. Nothing is going to come up. You have all that information to catalogue and I have things to do...yes, I'll rest, too. And work on the dock, it's getting a little shaky..."

 

Five miles from the cabin, surrounded by the most sophisticated electronic shielding he'd been able to get his hands on, Mike Cullen carefully refocused the directional mike he was using and listened as the man called Panther talked. His voice changed, became lighter, happier. Chief didn't speak back, but it was obvious there was a conversation taking place.

He sighed. This assignment felt like a betrayal. When Angelo had ordered him to find the mercenary's safehouse, he'd argued vehemently. After everything this government had already put these men through...but the President was clearly frightened by the man and his abilities and wanted them reserved for the American side, although Cullen had unhelpfully pointed out that technically neither of them were Americans, since Jim Ellison was legally dead and no one knew who Chief had been before.

Executive order carried a lot of weight, though. It had been a daunting task. Only a man of his resources and determination had a chance in hell, at least he knew now that the two of them really were about as safe as they could get. After months of single-minded work and trading favors he'd managed to track them down here, in the North American woods.

Listening to the soft sighs that preluded lovemaking, hearing the words of love whispered in that ravaged voice, Cullen knew. He *knew* that Angelo was wrong, as wrong as Gore had been, and every other person who had been involved with those past cruelties. These men had earned whatever peace they could find.

He was just reaching to turn off the microphone when Panther whispered a word...a name.

"Chief...*Blair*. God, I miss your name. Say my name." he was demanding it, begging. "Tell me who I am."

"Jim...my Jim. Sentinel." gasping the words out, the raw voice seemed filled with pain now.

"Blair." panting now too, Panther seemed to be - crying? "Shaman. Guide..."The mike was state-of-the-art, beyond it. Even at this distance it picked up every little sound, every breath and sigh.

The rustling noises of clothing, an odd crinkling sound, a hand stroking through hair...heavy wet kissing, small explosions of air as they parted to breathe before coming together again.

Ashamed of himself but unable to resist, Cullen listened as the lovemaking progressed, anticipating the crescendo.

"Always better here, I think so too." Panther was panting. Then there was a garbled noise and then, startling the listener, a shriek of gasping laughter that sounded more like someone choking. Only the mercenary's words helped him recognize it for what it was. "Bite *me*, you little monster, I'm gonna get you for *that*..." the words became a shout of laughter as well, deep and rich, rolling from that cold hard man.

"You - you - p-promised nnn-not to tickle!" the words got easier to decipher as he heard more of the voice, and the emotion that filled them. Indignation, love, lust, and some amusement.

"You didn't have to do it so *hard*." Panther complained. There was a thump, they must have rolled and landed on some sort of padded surface.

"But you can do it as hard as you like."

"Oh, shit, Chief, don't wiggle your ass at me like that, you *know* what that does to me!"

"Gets you to do to me!" a cackle of joy.

"C'mere, you...let me..." more wet noises, and moans from the younger man. Deep and throaty, Panther must be doing something mazing to him, Cullen thought, not really wanting to know what.

"Now, I can't wait, hard and fast this time..."

"Then slow and sweet tonight?" the man was purring. There was no other word for it.

"*Anything*, Panther. Anything....unghhhhh....."

Slapping flesh on flesh. Gutteral moans and heavy grunts.

Then a matched set of long, low groans and the heavy panting.

"Yes, I'll be quiet now." Panther whispered into the quiet as their breathing eased off. "We don't have to speak again for days. Weeks, if that's the way you want it." he paused and there was a low raw moan. "But first you have to tell me. Tell *me*."

"I love you, *Jim*."

No more words disturbed the room. Keeping to his post, Cullen heard them rest and rise and then shower and cook and eat. Not a word was spoken in the next six hours. Then it became clear they were going to bed...it was well past dark and cool out and the agent was becoming cramped and tired and just a teensy bit homesick.

Deciding that he didn't *want* to know anymore, Cullen resolutely flipped off the mike and went about packing up his equipment.

It was time to retire. Perhaps move out of the country. Back to Ireland, where his family had come from. Or Canada, where it was beautiful and cold.

Away from President Angelo and those like him.

His failure in this mission would make it perfectly reasonable. And he'd make sure that any who came after him would have an even harder time finding this serene place. Make sure it was impossible.

Maybe someday he'd be lucky enough to meet them again.

Possibly even talk to them -- he smiled ruefully at that thought -- and convince them to let him in, just a little bit.

Maybe he could be their friend.

 

\- finis -


End file.
